


He Was A Boy, And He Was Gay, Can I Make It Anymore Obvious?

by transkhoshekh



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Crack-ish, Crushes, Emo Viktor, Fluff, M/M, Post-Canon and Pre-Canon, Song fic, Viktor Had An Emo Phase, makkachin is immortal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-03
Updated: 2017-08-03
Packaged: 2018-12-10 13:54:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11693043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/transkhoshekh/pseuds/transkhoshekh
Summary: Short fic based around the story that gets told in Avril Lavinge's "Sk8r Boi."





	He Was A Boy, And He Was Gay, Can I Make It Anymore Obvious?

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to Casper and Andrea for spawning this idea by playing Sk8r Boi in the group chat, y'all are the best.

Viktor, at the age of 13, was a skilled dancer, an upcoming skater favored to win in the Junior Nationals, and…..having a bit of a rebellious phase.

He couldn’t really be blamed for this. He had spent most of his life training to skate professionally, and being told exactly how to do it - it wasn’t like he wanted to quit skating! He just wanted a little more freedom! He’d barely been able to pick his own clothes in any in any of the unofficial competitions he had done in the past couple years, and he was determined to make the most of the first year Yakov was considering letting him choose his outfits and theme. He’d been considering a lot of different ones - The Lives Of Ravens, The Dark Side of Growing Up, and The Death Of An Angel were at the top of his list, but he was still mulling it over.

Viktor was also desperately, hopelessly in love with a boy who frequented the same skate rink he used to practice. Ilia wasn’t a professional skater, but he was fairly talented - the only reason he had eschewed skating was so he could focus more wholeheartedly on his academic career. Even at the age of 13, he was already en route to be attending a prestigious university, so his skating (much to Viktor’s dismay, as they had previously been somewhat-informal rink mates) had become more of an infrequent hobby.

Viktor skated closer to Ilia’s group of friends, zipping past them with the intent of seeming skilled, saving his step sequences for the speed he picked up as he blew past them. He was grateful to the cool air of rink for masking the blush that was threatening to spring up on his cheeks as he attempted to show off. He'd snuck out of his room before Yakov could yell at him for his clothing choices, so this was the first time he'd ever skated in his hand-ripped jeans. The skin on his knees felt more exposed than when he skated in his more standard outfit of sweatpants, but he felt like he looked more attractive - interesting, or mysterious. Just _cool_ , somehow.

After gathering speed and enough distance from any other skaters, Viktor threw himself into a toe loop, eyes turned towards Ilia as he jumped. And he almost had it, despite the focus being on something other than his own body, but the distraction made him land wrong - his skates slid forward and he tumbled less-than-fluidly onto the ground. His bare knees hit the ice and he bit back a yelp, trying not to make it obvious that he’d just fucked up, in front of a cute boy no less.

Yakov was right. He should have stuck to plainer clothes. Or knee patches. Did they make knee patches? Maybe he needed to pioneer the way for grunge ice skaters.

As he glided deliberately to the exit of the rink, he could hear snickering across the room; Ilia and his friends were clearly laughing at him. His face burned and he quietly vowed to wear leggings under his jeans tomorrow. He couldn’t give up so easily.

 

* * *

 

 

Ilia felt himself blushing at his old rinkmate’s tumble, secondhand embarrassment heightened by the way his friends all laughed. He was lucky he hadn’t been distracted by Viktor’s movements, or he might have ended up the same way, toppling over his toe-pick, much to his chagrin. It was hard to take your eyes off Viktor - even if the clothes he’d been wearing lately were ridiculous - and Ilia felt himself respecting that Viktor looked tall and strong, even when he was nursing an injury. If he wasn’t trying to throw himself away with something as difficult to break into as professional sports, maybe they would have had a chance.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Viktor was going to run out of courage if he didn’t do this right now. Immediately.

Ilia looked guarded, arms crossed around his chest as he stared at Viktor’s sweaty, tired form in front of him. Viktor couldn’t blame him for that - he probably didn’t smell the best. Or look the best. But Georgi had been egging him on all day, and now he was running on nervous, excitable energy.  

“You wanted to tell me something…?” Ilia prompted hesitantly when Viktor just stared, tongue-tied, standing on the precipice but too afraid to make the leap.

“I...yeah. Uh. I was wondering - I know you aren’t skating now? Or, not professionally. So maybe you will have more free time. And I was just - I thought maybe you could hang out sometimes, not just skating? Like, maybe you could be my boyfriend?” Once he started talking it was hard to stop, but he managed to shut his jaw and return to starting at Ilia, wide-eyed.

Ilia smiled at him the way you would look at a wounded animal- with no malice, but way too much pity - and said, “Just because I have different goals, doesn’t mean you have a chance of getting lucky.”

 

* * *

 

 Ilia had promised himself when he let go of figure skating as a professional pursuit that he would still keep himself active and up to date in a more casual sense. But by the time he was 14, the accelerated academic programs he was enrolled in took up a lot of his time, and hobbies that didn’t build towards his goals fell to the wayside a little bit. Occasionally he’d watch a few routines, and once he’d taken a girl skating on a date, but he was mostly out of the loop at this point, his skater friends having drifted away from him when they all realized they had little in common.

But today was the first day of senior championships (a friend had reminded him), and he felt he could have his attention split between his textbooks for such an event - it wouldn’t hurt to tune back in, he had thought. Now, at 17, he had missed it - the scrape of blades on ice, the soft chatter of commentators speaking a language he couldn't understand.  

But he hadn’t counted on being so completely absorbed by the images on his computer screen. After a few other names were called, he heard the name of a boy he hadn’t thought about in years....Viktor Nikiforov.

His old rink mate looked graceful, happy; the calm demeanor with which he moved seemed so in contrast to Ilia’s memories of him as an awkward barely-teen, face smudged in so much eyeliner it seemed improbable he could ever see straight, adamant about the clothing choices he made even when they were far from practical ice-wear.

Ilia felt his chest constrict a little bit; here was this boy he had thought was sloppy, silly, not even worth talking to, doing more in 17 years of his life than Ilia ever had. Maybe he shouldn’t have pushed away his feelings. Maybe he shouldn’t have been so worried about the judgement of his friends…

He opened up AOL and typed out a message to the friend who had reminded him about the competition: 

 **Eeleeah:** _Do you want to go watch the Grand Prix in person? It’s in Moscow._

 

* * *

 

  
  
“What???” Yuuri’s indignation at Viktor’s story made the latter chuckle softly.

“It wasn’t a huge deal, Yurochka. You know that you are in the minority of people who marry the object of their pre-teen infatuations, right?”

Yuuri frowned at him a little and replied, “Well _true_ , and I’m glad you’re my husband and not his, but he didn’t have to be an ass! I wonder if he knows what he missed out on.”

Viktor smiled, saying, “Well, he was a fellow Russian. I think he checked out of the professional skating world, but my name and face aren’t unfamiliar to the general public - as you’ve probably noticed,” he paused for a moment, as if considering the phrasing of his next sentence, and then said, “He wrote me a letter around the time I debuted in the Senior Division and started to win things. Maybe I was being cocky, but I ripped it up and lost his address. Beyond that, I don’t know.”

Yuuri snorted. “I was thinking more like him being jealous of our cute Instagram dog-and-couple photos, but that works just as well.” Yuuri hugged Viktor tightly from his place in his husband’s lap, their combined warmth and Makkachin’s body creating a toasty temperature under the blankets as he pressed close to him. With his head leaned into Viktor’s chest, he mumbled, “Well now _I_ get to kiss you, so I know how got lucky in the end.”

Viktor’s returning squeeze was leisurely, gentle, somehow brushing the past aside and thanking Yuuri for his sincerity all at once.

**Author's Note:**

> come say hi on Tumblr, gaykatsukiyuuri


End file.
